


A slip of the tongue (or, five times Crowley said I love you, and one time Aziraphale heard)

by LadyNickname



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crack, Fluff and Crack, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, crowley is an idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 07:43:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19421542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyNickname/pseuds/LadyNickname
Summary: Classic 5 times + 1.In which Crowley is dumb but he thinks he's smart, Aziraphale had no idea what's going on, and everything ends well.





	A slip of the tongue (or, five times Crowley said I love you, and one time Aziraphale heard)

1) ROME

Aziraphale was eating almonds coated in honey, while Crowley was content to merely be around him, enjoying his company.  
Of course, the angel being quite generous, had offered to share, which Crowley declined, not wanting to deprive him of the pleasure to eat the sweets he liked so much. But you asked him, he would deny this explanation and reply that it was merely fun to watch an angel give in to the sin of gluttony. Sins and temptations were a perfect excuse for a lot of things, after all. And he himself fell victim to temptation quite often, especially concerning Aziraphale. For instance, right now, he was far more tempted by the nice little thrilled sounds Aziraphale was making while eating than by the almonds themselves. So it was quite easy to decline.  
In response to his polite "No, thank you", Aziraphale had answered "Ah, of course dear, I forgot that you don't like sweet things".  
And that's when it happened. He talked without thinking, and, as usual when he does, Bad Things happen. Asking questions without thinking had caused him to fall, but had he learned his lesson? Had he managed to just use his brain for five seconds before speaking? Apparently not, because the next words out of his mouth were: "That's not true, you're sweet and I love you."  
Oh. Oh no. Oh no no no no no. When he realized what he had said, he honestly wished he was back in hell smelling Hastur's delightful poo-perfume. Or being tortured by his co-workers. Even falling again would be fine. Anything would be better than this.  
Luckily, Aziraphale was so lost in the pleasure of his delicacies that his answer was: "I'm sorry dear, what did you say?"  
Oh, thank Satan. Thank all the demons in hell, thank the danky head office, thank anything and anyone, Aziraphale had not heard him. Now, he had to think very carefully and terribly fast about what he would say next. Come on, think! Think for Lucifer's sake!  
Ah! Perfect!  
"I said I loathe you, and you're a twit!"  
There we go! Wonderful. He had managed to make up for his blunter, and the angel would be none the wiser.  
He looked at Aziraphale, and his gut gave an unpleasant twist at the hurt expression on his face. Oh no. That might have been worse than what he first said. Bless his stupid tongue!  
"That's not very nice." Aziraphale said, dryly.  
"Well, you can't expect me to be nice! I'm a bloody demon, aren't I? I'm not meant to be nice, ever. Especially not to an angel!"  
Aziraphale's face fell, before his expression became completely closed-off.  
Crap. He had made the situation even worse. Best take his leave now, before he begs for forgiveness and tells Aziraphale he loves him again.  
He stood up, left, got back to the tavern he was staying at, and got blissfully sloshed. If you get too drunk to speak properly, the risks of saying something stupid are lessened considerably.

2) CORDOBA, 1479

The Spanish Inquisition had started. Times were rough. Very, very rough. Of course, the Angel was in the Juderia, trying to make things better and protect some of the Jews facing persecution and death, being driven from home or burned at the stake.  
And, since the situation was frankly depressing and, contrary to popular opinion, Crowley did not enjoy being depressed, he decided to pay a visit to Aziraphale, in order to cheer them both up. Of course, it occurred to him that paying a visit to someone you are hopelessly pining for may not always turn out to be the fun time he needed right now, but hey, at least that would give him a less-depressing reason to mope about. After all, sulking over unrequited feelings wasn't quite as bad as despairing over genocide and a forced Exodus.  
That's how he found himself in Aziraphale's company, properly drunk, bringing him excruciatingly sweet Arabic pastries (Sbakias were the angel's favorites at the time) in the hopes that focusing on earthly pleasures would help Aziraphale not think of the horror that was going on outside, if only for a bit.  
It worked for about five minutes. After that depressingly short time, the angel had begun a long rant about the atrocities committed in the name of God, right on his doorstep. And, seeing how sad it made him, Crowley felt even more depressed. So he offered Aziraphale a drink or two hundred, and enjoyed his fair share of wine himself. The ranting did not stop, however.  
"All these people being chased away, or worse ! All because of their faith. It's so unjoostified… Unchustifed… pointless."  
"Yeah, I hate this too. It's so sad. And I don't like seeing you depressed, especially since I love you."  
Oh no. Oh shit not again. Curse his rotten, blistering pestulant tongue! He could not believe he had said it again! His mouth had a mind of its own. At least, this time he could blame the alcohol.  
But, drunk as he was, it seemed that, luckily, Aziraphale had not managed to make sense out of his words.  
"What was that, dear?"  
"I said it's sad, especially since I love Jews!"  
"Ah. That's err… quite a strange sentiment but a really nice one."  
"Yeah."  
HURRAY! He had managed to find an out, and this time without hurting Aziraphale's feelings. That was a huge victory. He was so relieved he didn't even bother with telling Aziraphale he wasn't nice, would never be nice etc, and just decided to spare them both the whole spiel, for once.  
He felt extremely relieved and happy that he hadn't been caught. That was a close one, but he was rather proud of the way he dragged himself out of this one.  
Drunk as they both were, however, he figured it was time to go, and retired to his own home.

3) LONDON, 1610

They were watching Hamlet together. Not that Crowley enjoyed it much, but he was proud to see the crowd, and even prouder to see the awed and pleased look on Aziraphale's face when he realized just how many people were in attendance. They were watching from the higher seats, away from the penny-stinkers and their loud cheers, jeers or wails of sadness. The noise was still quite loud, as was customary during plays. But still, since all of Crowley's attention was hyper-focused on Aziraphale, in a falsely detached "I'm not looking straight at you but I'm ravenously listening to every little sound you make" kind of way, he could hear quite clearly when Aziraphale whispered: "Oh, I can't believe you did that! That's quite marvelous, my dear."  
And of course his mouth had to do it again, and, before he realized it, he had whispered in answer:  
"I'd do anything for you, my love."  
But at least, this time, they were in a very loud environment. He suddenly loved the non-stop, depressing talking going on on stage and the wailing of the crowd.  
"What? I can't hear you!" Aziraphale shouted.  
"I said: "why are there so many doves?"  
Alright, even he knew that this one barely made sense. He had do distract Aziraphale from his answer, so he went on talking: "No need to mention it anyway. It was easy, otherwise I wouldn't have bothered! Now stop making a fuss, if it had been too tedious I would have given up. What's it to me, anyway? I don't even like the stupid play!"  
Good. His tactic had been successful, and Aziraphale forgot all about 'doves' and words that rhyme with it. He simply nodded and went back to watching the play. Perfect. Crowley was getting better at making up for his mistakes. He would have been happier if he had gotten better at not being absolutely stupid and saying daft things like "I love you" out of the blue, but he would take what he could get (he was already used to doing that when it came to Aziraphale, why not doing that about his own short-comings, too?)

4) LONDON, 1910

They were going to the opera. It was a little peace offering after the whole Holy Water debacle. Aziraphale had suggested an outing to listen to music, and Crowley had been left with the task of finding something they could both enjoy. He had settled on Don Giovanni. It was full of debauchery, which Crowley enjoyed (and he would get to see how embarrassed Aziraphale would get during the aria listing the 1003 women the libertine had slept with), but the story ended with heavenly retribution, which the angel would approve of. And the music was gorgeous, of course, but if you asked him, Crowley would mostly say he chose it because of the whole "giving in to the temptation of lust" thing.  
So, they were enjoying the show, and not talking much, since that wasn't an appropriate activity for the opera at the time. Not that Crowley would mind terribly if he got to annoy everyone around him. He would actually get a nice little kick out of it, especially knowing he had spoiled a perfectly fine evening for the rich crowd in the audience. But that would also mean that Aziraphale would cast him one of those self-righteous, disapproving glares and be very sullen all evening, and since the whole outing was about getting back on his good side, well, it simply wouldn't do. So he dutifully stayed quiet during the show, and tried to pretend that he was not enjoying the music quite as thoroughly as he actually was, affecting a blasé attitude.

While everyone was clapping and cheering at the end of the show, Aziraphale turned to him and said, very loudly, right in his ear: "Thank you! That was wonderful! I truly loved it!"  
And, having learned his lesson, Crowley took advantage of the roaring crowd to mumble indistinctly: "And I love you."  
As predicted, Aziraphale couldn't quite make out the words that came out of his mouth. It had worked! After all, if he couldn't help himself and had to say it once every few centuries, he might as well chose his moment carefully and make sure the angel wouldn't hear a thing. He congratulated himself on being so smart and cunning.  
"What did you say?" Aziraphale shouted once more.  
"I said stop screaming in my ear!" Crwoley hissed, loud enough to be heard, this time.  
Aziraphale looked very contrite, and said, still shouting: "Ah, very sorry, my dear. I shan't do it again."  
After the opera, they had dinner together. It had been a lovely evening, and a great success, as far as Crowley was concerned.

5) LONDON, 1941

His feet hurt. "Walking on the sand barefoot". Ha! Right. It felt more like someone was blow-torching his feet in the hope of getting a nice crème brûlée out of it. But he wasn't about to tell the angel that. And he really didn't want to admit weakness in front of dim-witted Nazis. He would never sink so low. He didn't like Nazis. He found their whole schtick not very tasteful. The uniforms looked good, he could give them that. But the rest was… well it was the Spanish Inquisition all over again, and he hadn't been too fond of that era. Or of any of the many crimes against humanity that humanity had committed throughout the centuries. Should he say crimes against itself? After all, humans were the only ones committing said crimes against humanity. He still couldn't believe Aziraphale had actually asked him if he had had a hand in some of them, mentionning colonization and slave trade. Yuck. He had had a hand in a lot of slave revolts, though. Tempting them to wrath and violence had actually been one of his favorite jobs. Now that was the kind of tempting that felt nice.  
In any case, Crowley was very happy to blow out that church, and for many reasons. First, because that would help him save Aziraphale.  
Second, because he didn't like Nazis.  
Third, because he was destroying a freaking church, and really, how many other demons could say as much? Oh, he would use that one to show off for quite a while.  
And lastly, because he had learned that if his slips of the tongue were inevitable, he might as well plan them right. Yes, being in love with an angel sucked. But deceiving said angel about his affection for him was rather fun. It didn't really make up for all the pining, but still. He enjoyed it quite a bit. So he waited for just the right moment, when his ear-drums got nearly shattered by the explosion, to yell at the top of his voice: "I love you, you stupid idiot".  
And of course, Aziraphale had not heard a thing. What a rush! Saying it got his adrenaline pumping quite nicely, and knowing he wouldn't be caught made the whole thing thrilling, rather than scary to death.  
And he had even gotten the angel to thank him for saving the books.  
All in all, it was more than worth the blisters on his feet. He'd do it all over again in a heartbeat.  
He really counted that evening as a huge win.

+1 A FEW DAYS AFTER THE ARMAGEDON'T

They were sitting in the bookshop, drinking together. Which would have been nice had Aziraphale not been grilling him about why he wasn't in higher spirits after having successfully fooled heaven and hell into leaving them alone. And though he knew perfectly well why his state of mind wasn't great, he didn't really feel like admitting that he was constantly pestered by annoying thoughts of books on fire and a missing angel.  
So he had given Aziraphale excuses ranging from "this crappy weather is getting me down" (which was quite lame, since the sun had been shining for a few days) to the very hurtful "because I realized that now that my head office has decided to leave me alone, the only company I can count on is an angel's, and honestly that's not great".  
Being mean hadn't been enough to get Aziraphale off his back (metaphorically of course. If he could get Aziraphale to lay on his back in the literal way, he would never, ever do anything to deter him. Though he would help him get off.)  
Aziraphale kept insisting quietly and softly at first, then vehemently after the barbs, saying in an affronted way: "Oh no, Crowley, don't be that way. I know very well that you actually enjoy my company. Adn I demand to know the truth!"  
Oh. He demanded, did he? Demanded! Who was he to demand anything from him? And hadn't he been the one who said they weren't even friends? What right did he have to question him like that?  
Crowley got angry. And, so, he acted rashly, and once more completely and utterly lost control of his mouth.  
Almost shaking with wrath, he abruptly stood up from his chair and started shouting.  
"Oh, you demand to know, do you? Yeah? Fine. It's YOUR fault if I feel like shit. There? Are you happy? Oh don't look at me like that! Of course I feel crappy because of you, mister "I don't even like you" and "you go too fast for me, Crowley". Don't you dare look this surprised. You know that pissed me off. Oh but that wasn't enough for you, was it? Nooooo, you had to be a complete asshole and disappear in a freaking fire, flames everywhere and no trace of you! Not a single thing! Do you have any idea what that feels like? DO YOU? Yeah, you're not looking so smug now, are you? Hah! Shut you right up didn't it? Yeah. You know, I can deal with you pushing me away and being a jerk. It sucks but I can take it. But I swear to every ethereal and occult creature there is that if you ever disappear on me again, I will kill you. I love you too damn much to grieve for you again!"  
And with that, Crowley sat back down, rather happy with himself, at least for the few seconds in which he felt immensely proud about telling Aziraphale off like that.  
Until he realized what he had said. That's when his pride quickly turned to devastating mortification.  
His fight or flight reflex was immediately triggered, and he wouldn't fight Aziraphale, so really, it was more of a flight or flight situation. His serpentine brain suggested that he could try playing dead for a bit, but he didn't think it would work.  
Looking like a complete and total idiot, he got up again, and made for the exit.  
Of course, the angel caught his arm as soon as he turned away, and Crowley was faced with the sight of Aziraphale, that right bastard, who was smiling, beaming with joy. Crowley couldn't believe the angel was so thrilled by his total humiliation.  
His voice was much too gleeful when he said: "You know, I think that may have been the most deplorable declaration of love of all time. It certainly is the worst one I've ever seen, and I've been here since the earth began."  
Crowley couldn't find words anymore. He was fuming. He was furious. He was so angry he was…  
Oh. Never mind. He was happy. He was elated. He was blissfully, wonderfully content, because, while he was still busy trying to find a scathing retort, Aziraphale had gotten closer and planted his lips firmly on his.  
The kiss was very awkward at first, because Aziraphale had pushed his lips a bit too forcefully on his, and it had hurt a bit, and, for a second, Crowley was too stunned to reciprocate. When his brain came back online, it turned into the most delightful experience of his existence.  
First, it was sweet and desperate, lips moving softly while his body trembled with incredulity, silently asking: "is this the real life, is it just fantasy?"  
Aziraphale pressed closer and put his hands on the small of Crowley's back, silently answering his mute question with a reassuring: "I'm here, and I'm not letting you go."  
And then Crowley had really sprung into action snaking his fingers in Aziraphale's hair and pulling lightly, forcing his body closer, closer, as close as possible, slithering against the angel's body, and kissing with all he had, lips, teeth, tongue, and infinite passion  
Oddly enough, though neither of them needed air, they were both panting quite hard when they broke the kiss.  
Crowley was unsure what to do now, so he settled for staring into Aziraphale's eyes like the love-sick idiot he was.  
It was Aziraphale who broke the silence by saying, softly, reverently: "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere, my dearest. And I will never disappear on you again. I promise."  
And, still before thinking, Crowley answered in a shy, child-like and mortifying voice: "Really? You'll stay with me?"  
The answer he got had been well-worth the humiliation. Aziraphale's voice was as tender and sweet as he'd ever heard it when he said: "For as long as you wish, my love."

Crowley had planned on cunningly deceiving the Angel about his feelings for a few more centuries at least. He really enjoyed his little victories, and thought he would make a game of it, one he intended to win. He had never been happier to fail. Sure, he had royally screwed-up, but, seeing that he was kissing Aziraphale again, he still considered this a victory.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry for the clunky Queen quote. I couldn't help myself.  
> Also, the part about the Spanish Inquisition was inspired mostly from my experience as a Jew going to Cordoba with my father, whose ancestors had to flee to Morocco. I know a lot of Muslims were also chased away, and I'm sorry for not mentioning them more, but since we mostly focused on our own history during that trip I didn't know enough to include it in the story.  
> If anyone had suggestions about that, I would be very happy to take them.


End file.
